


22 Short Fics for Rhonda MacDonald

by orphan_account



Series: It Never Rains in Philadelphia [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Character Study, Cisswap, F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. D*ke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singingtomysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingtomysoul/gifts).



> Structure influenced by 22 Short Fics About Abed Nadir (http://archiveofourown.org/works/302631). I'm aiming for 22 just to have a number, but it might get longer or shorter depending on how many stories I have to tell.
> 
> Warnings for slurs, cissexist language, gender essentialism, internalized homophobia, and general Always Sunny horrible-ness. Basically it's a bunch of queer, mentally ill people growing up in really toxic environments and turning into toxic people so there's going to be a lot of baggage that gets addressed and issues that get oversimplified or not dealt with well. Any issue already addressed by the show is fair game. Tread carefully, and I hope you like it!
> 
> Thank you to singingtomysoul for all your enabling, and to all of my friends on tumblr who got excited about this AU. It got way more response than I ever expected for a tiny fandom, which was awesome and inspiring.

Charlotte and Rhonda are smoking weed behind the bleachers. It’s a cool autumn day; the grass is crunchy and wet where they’re sitting, a remnant of the morning’s frost. The grey smoke blows up out of their mouths into a matching sky. Charlotte is smiling, relaxed. Rhonda knows that she loves the fall, because she can start wearing baggy sweatshirts again, and also because they can smoke more often in public without getting caught.

Rhonda can’t relax, despite the weed. If anything, it’s making her obsession with the comments that were thrown at her that morning by the boys in her class more intense. She rubs out the burning edge of her joint on her jeans.

“Have you ever been called a dyke, Charlotte?” she asks.

Charlotte blows another ring of smoke into the sky.

“All the time, dude. All the time.”

“What does it even mean?” asks Rhonda.

“It’s weird. I asked a guy this one time and he said it’s when two chicks have sex.” said Charlotte. “I think he must have been messing with me though.”

Rhonda laughs hard. “How would that even work? What, would you just mush your pussys together?” 

Charlotte laughs too, and mimes the action crudely by smacking her hands against each other. “I don’t know!”

There is a moment of silence before Rhonda says, “Hey, hey, hey Charlotte. Do you find this sexy?” She smacks her hands together.

They both roll onto the ground in a mess of giggles. After they both calm down a little, Charlotte says, “I think what they sort of mean is that girls usually want boys, so if you want to do that weird thing with a girl, you’d have to look like a boy.”

“That’s messed up, dude,” says Rhonda. “That’s like spy tactics.”

“I know man. That’s why I think guys are just messing with us. They had to come up with a name for a thing that doesn’t even exist, probably,” says Charlotte.

“I heard that it doesn’t even feel good for girls to do sex anyway,” says Rhonda. “It sounds weird, all of it. Boys are weird.”

Charlotte takes one last draw on her joint, and taps it out on her jeans too.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t ever even want to do sex, if I gotta have sex with them,” she says.

Rhonda thinks about having something inside her, moving around, intruding. She pictures a guy breathing heavily on top of her, smelling like corn chips and sweat, and she shudders.

“Me too, Charlotte. Me too.”


	2. Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The structure of this was taken from here: http://www.stbartparish.org/prayers-of-faithful.html. I am Catholic, but couldn't come up with better opening prayers than the ones this one had to offer. Leave it to the professionals.

Let us raise our prayers to the God of all goodness and grace.

For the Church: that we, like Peter and Paul, may allow God to work through our weaknesses and to transform us by the Holy Spirit. We pray to the Lord.

_Lord hear our prayer_

For Pope John Paul II: that God inspire his words and deeds as he gives witness to the Gospel and encouragement to the church. We pray to the Lord.

_Lord hear our prayer._

For our senators and lawmakers, that they might be guided towards righteous decisions and choices in the name of God’s love. We pray to the Lord.

_Lord hear our prayer._

Let us add any additional intentions in the silence of our hearts. We pray to the Lord

[a moment of silence]

For Rhonda MacDonald and that bracelet she shoplifted from Target yesterday. That she might find an outfit that matches it so that it wasn’t a waste of time to steal it. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald, that she might find the strength within her to stop gazing down Denise Reynolds’s shirt. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald, that the power of God will stop her confusing feelings for women by the time she is confirmed in the church. We pray to the Lord.

For all the women who have had abortions and divorces; may they burn in hell forever. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald’s dad, that he might not get caught smuggling cocaine into prison again. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald’s mom, that she might sleep a little less and make dinner more often. We pray to the Lord.

For Denise Reynolds, that she might stop putting so many dicks inside of her vagina so that she’ll be in the good books on judgment day. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald’s drug business, that the blowjob she gave Ricky Davis might hold him off selling for three months like he promised. We pray to the Lord.

For all of Rhonda MacDonald’s drug selling competitors, that they might be smited. We pray to the Lord.

For Rhonda MacDonald, that she might find a husband much, much later in life without having to try very hard.

_Lord hear our prayer._

Holy God, your compassion is beyond measure. Be with us as we learn to live in your love. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.


	3. Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for two people kissing while a little bit drunk.

The music is mind-numbingly loud at John Rodgers’s house party. Combined with the dark atmosphere and the three or so beers in Rhonda’s system, it brings to mind a dreamlike state, almost a place where anything can happen.

That said, Rhonda was not ever expecting that “anything” to ever be Denise coming on to her, not even in the darkest room with the highest-proof booze. Rhonda would pinch herself, except Denise’s hand is wrapped around one of her wrists like a human handcuff as they sit dangerously close on John’s ratty couch.

Don’t you want me?” slurs Denise. “Everybody wants me.”

Rhonda tries to avert her eyes from Denise’s, well, everything, and fails. She is dressed in a silver-spangled dress that is almost short enough to reveal her underwear (not that Rhonda is looking) and pushes up her breasts perfectly, like a model in a magazine. She has shellacked herself in body glitter from head to toe, and even in her inebriated state, her makeup is barely smudged. Denise is intimidating, beautiful, intense, frightening.

Rhonda had helped pick out this outfit herself. Goddamn it.

“I’m not going to make out with you to impress that tool,” she says.

Denise rolls her eyes. “Not about impression. Control. Unavailability. You. . .are so slow sometimes. . .”

“You’re drunk as shit, Denise,” says Rhonda.

Denise laughs; it’s humorless, almost, but most of Denise’s laughs are.

“I could be sober whenever I want. I’m in the driver’s seat.”

She moves her other hand to Rhonda’s face, which turns red underneath her warm palm. Denise’s perfectly sharp, filed nails press slightly into Rhonda’s cheek. She wonders if Denise makes them that way so she can claw out eyes if she needs to, and then decides she doesn’t care when Denise presses their foreheads together.

“This is wrong,” says Rhonda.

“Shhh,” says Denise, rubbing her thumb across Rhonda’s cheekbones. “It’s not even gay. Straight girls do this at parties all the time. It’s for a guy. What’s straighter than that?”

“It’s for a guy. . .and no penis is going inside either of us. . .” says Rhonda, thinking through a list of any other reason why this might not be ok. Rhonda didn’t want to be seen as a lesbian after all – maybe this could up her straight-girl street cred.

Denise hums in agreement, closing her intense eyes. “Good,” she says.

Rhonda’s heart skips a beat as she tilts her head and kisses Denise on the mouth.

Denise’s face isn’t bulky like a man’s, but it isn’t soft either; she’s all angles and ice, and kissing her is almost painful. Her kisses back are aggressive, full of teeth and tongue. Rhonda threads her fingers in soft, platinum blonde hair, and begins to feel a slight tingle between her legs.

Denise swats her hand away, saying, “Don’t mess up my hair. I spent two hours on it.”

The tingling between Rhonda’s legs intensifies.

The kissing is over too soon, ending with a friendly pat on the cheek and a “Good work,” from Denise. The man of her choosing had apparently noticed their encounter, and Denise was now chatting him up enthusiastically. Something in Rhonda’s chest burns, and she wonders if it’s a message from hell telling her that she made a bad decision. She gets up from the couch to grab another beer to stop thinking about it.

Rhonda can’t stop touching her mouth absentmindedly for a month afterwards. If Denise notices, she doesn’t say anything.


	4. Tee Shirts

**Seven Ironic Tee Shirts Rhonda MacDonald Never Bought**

“What Are You Looking at, Dicknose?”

_Hilarious! Encourages manly swearing though. Fuck._

“Bear + Deer = Beer”

_I LOVE beer – no, not a thing to advertise to a potential husband. I will like girly drinks someday. I will._

“Thanks Obama”

_Oh, I hate that guy! Probably shouldn’t be too political in public though . . . might make me look too smart for dudes._

“I’d Flex, But I Like This Shirt”

_A boob joke is probably not what this shirt was meant for._

“[picture of a half-naked woman]”

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

“Come to Philly for the Crack”

_Says lesbian all over it. Goddamn it._

“RIOT”

_Put it back. Put it back. Put it back._


	5. Project Food Network

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe used here is this one: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/cinnamon-rolls-recipe.html I have never used it because I am terrible at cooking, but they look pretty great.

Awesome Paula Dean Cinnamon Buns

Ingredients:

1/4 -ounce package yeast. DO NOT EAT RAW.

1/2 cup warm water.

1/2 cup scalded milk. Or regular milk, if you don’t know what that is.

1/4 cup sugar.

1/3 cup butter or shortening.

1 teaspoon salt for some weird reason.                                             

1 egg

3 ½  to 4 cups all-purpose flour. 3 ½ is for pussies, though.

Filling:

1/2 cup melted butter, plus more for pan

3/4 cup sugar, plus more for pan

2 tablespoons ground cinnamon

3/4 cup raisins, walnuts, or pecans, optional (and gross)

Directions

  *          Wake up at 5 AM.
  *          “Heat oven to 350 degrees F.” Screw that. Heat to 600, you don’t have all day.
  *          In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water and set aside. Don’t try to taste it.
  *          In a large bowl mix milk, sugar, melted butter, salt and egg. Add 2 cups of flour and mix until smooth.
  *          . . .Mix until smooth.
  *          _Mix until smooth._
  *          _MIX UNTIL SMOOTH GODDAMN IT_
  *          . . .Add yeast mixture.
  *          Mix in remaining flour until dough is easy to handle. If you put in too much flour. . .it will probably figure itself out at some point.
  *          Knead dough on lightly floured surface for 5 to 10 minutes. Place in well-greased bowl, cover and let rise until doubled in size.
  *          Yell to Denise that you’re making cinnamon buns and they’re on their way to deliciousness. Knock hard on her door for emphasis.
  *          Wipe flour off of Denise’s door.
  *          Wait fifteen minutes. Turn on tv. Food Network. Increase volume.
  *          Open every window in apartment in case the dough sets itself on fire.
  *          Increase volume to compensate for sound lost to fresh air. Rachel Ray is playing at 39 notches of volume.
  *          Knock on Denise’s door again. “DENISE WAKE UP THERE’S GONNA BE FOOD!”
  *          “FUCK YOU RHONDA. FUCK YOUR PROJECT FOOD NETWORK. IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING. I HATE YOU.”
  *          “GOOD MORNING TO YOU, TOO.”
  *          One hour timer goes off. Stove beeps. Rachel Ray enthuses about her pasta. Denise slams the bedroom door open and-
  *          “DON’T YOU DARE TURN OFF THE FOOD NETWORK DENISE. I WILL THROW YOUR SLUTTIEST PAIR OF SHOES OUT THE WINDOW. I’LL DO IT.”
  *          Denise sits down to enjoy Rachel Ray with a weirdly negative expression on her face.
  *          _(denise is so pretty even in the morning, even when she’s angry, her hair gets all mussed when she sleeps on it and it probably feels really nice to touch-)_
  *          DING. The cooking timer goes off again.
  *          Punch down dough.
  *          “Do you think the way that I’m hitting this dough is too manly?” “I don’t care.”
  *          Punch the dough some more.
  *          “You’ll never get a husband thinking like that, Denise.” “Good.”
  *          Say a quiet prayer for Denise.
  *           Roll out on a floured surface into a 15 by 9-inch rectangle. Spread melted butter all over dough. Mix sugar and cinnamon and sprinkle over buttered dough. Beginning at the 15-inch side, role up dough and pinch edge together to seal. Cut into 12 to 15 slices.
  *          Make Denise get up to come look at your handiwork.
  *          “You should take a picture of them before they burn.”
  *          Retract prayer for Denise.
  *          Coat the bottom of baking pan with butter and sprinkle with sugar. Place cinnamon roll slices close together in the pan and let rise until dough is doubled.
  *          Discuss the merits of Anne Hathaway’s breasts in relation to her career as an actress and value as a person with Denise for 45 minutes.
  *          Put buns in oven without pausing the conversation.
  *          Forget them for an hour and a half due the conversation blossoming into a heated argument.
  *          Notice smoke billowing out of the window as you dangle Denise’s sluttiest shoes out of it.
  *          Reluctantly call the fire department.
  *          Glare at Denise across the Sabrina's cafe booth as she smugly drinks black coffee and eyes your half-eaten breakfast.
  *          Blame her for everything.




	6. Smart, Sweet, Whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of this comes from a brief one-liner by Margaret Cho, but it also has some roots that run a bit deeper. It has also been referred to as the three faces of Eve or the virgin-mother-whore archetypes.
> 
> The dialogue here is inspired by (and in a few places directly from or heavily modeled after) the cold open of The Gang Solves the Gas Crisis.
> 
> Here thar be a few gendered slurs and sexist assumptions so tread carefully.

“How are we supposed to scale back our energy costs when you're filling this generator with gasoline?” said Denise. She tapped her foot in an irritated way.

Charlotte didn’t answer; she screwed the cap on the large barrel of gasoline, and then wiped her sweaty face with her hand. Her palm smeared the grease droplets on her forehead into a straight black line.

“Since when did you start running the bar on a gas generator?” asked Rhonda.

“About a week ago,” said Charlotte, examining strands of hair that had escaped from her messy ponytail. “I've been doing it for about a week.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Denise.

“Well, because, you know, electricity's so expensive, man. So I figured let's get a generator and, you know, run the bar on it,” said Charlotte. “Plus I heard a little extra grease is good for your hair, although I’m not seeing the results.”

“Are you kidding me? Gasoline's, like, a thousand times more expensive than electricity. Don’t put it in your hair!” said Denise.

“I really think this plan is working on all accounts,” said Charlotte.

“It’s not. It’s not at all. Nothing about this has been a good idea,” said Denise.

“You know what, Charlotte?” said Rhonda. “You shouldn't be making these decisions anyway, okay? You're not the decision-making type. As the “smart one” of this organization, I should've made this decision.”

Denise squinted at her as if they were fighting words.

“I'm sorry but when did you become the smart one?”

“I'm sorry. I've _always_ been the smart one,” said Rhonda.

“What are your talking about? I thought I was the smart one. What the hell am I?” Denise asked, folding her arms. Rhonda gestured to her body, clad in four inch heels, a tiny miniskirt, and a midriff baring shirt.

 “You're the whore,” she said.

“Well of course I'm the whore, but I was seeing myself as sort of a brainy whore-“

“There are no brainy whores. Name one brainy whore.”

Denise rolled her eyes.

“I would be the exception, Rhonda. I’m an exceptional person.”

Rhonda sighed, frustrated.

“No. You're the whore, I'm the smart one, and Charlotte is the sweet one.”

Charlotte frowned.

“Mine sucks. I want a different one.”

“I also want to fight this. I don’t want to be just one thing; I find it very limiting,” said Denise.

“No, look, these roles have nothing to do with what you want. It’s just a matter of acceptance. If you have a group of three girlfriends, everyone gets their own box,” said Rhonda.

“Do you have proof of this?” asked Charlotte.

“I want to see some receipts on this theory,” said Denise.

Rhonda sighed again.

“In movies for guys – not that I watch that many-, they have their own setup: looks, brains, wildcard. When you’re girls, you have to tweak it a little bit. So the brains can stay the same, except a little less smarter. That’s me. The looks changes for girls. You like to use your looks, right Denise?”

“What else are they for?” she said, running her fingers through her hair.

“That attitude makes you the whore.”

“That does make sense,” said Denise.

“Now you can’t have a wildcard when you’re in a crew of ladies. A crazy lady isn’t part of a crew. So you have to make it the extreme opposite – the sweet one helps to get the crew what they want through innocence and childish charm.”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose.

“Can I be an exception though? I think I would be more useful if I could just blow shit up. Or maybe I could just be really nice to people while exploding things-“

“No explosions,” said Rhonda, cutting her off. “Our problem is that we don't stick to that basic format, and it gets us into trouble.”

“So what you're saying is that by breaking from that format, we're actually limiting our ability to be as successful?” asked Denise.

“Totally right, dude,” said Rhonda. “On to the matter at hand. We're totally getting fingered by the oil companies and the gas companies with their ten-gallon hats and their sticky hands. So, as the brains of this organization, I came up with a plan.”

“Lay it on us, babe,” said Denise.

“It involves putting on our big girl panties, getting cozy with the enemy, and doing a little fingering of our own.”

Denise and Charlotte stared at Rhonda, a little confused.

“Not lesbian sex,” she clarified.

“Okay.”

“Okay, 'cause that's what it sounded like-“

“What did you mean?” asked Charlotte.

“We're going to solve the gas crisis,” said Rhonda.


	7. Can I Tell You a Secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was prompted by singingtomysoul.

They’re lying on a blanket, half naked and drunk in Denise’s backyard on a hot July evening. The sky is black and clear of stars. Rhonda’s nudity does not extend past a modest bikini, but Denise isn’t wearing a shirt at all. Her tits hang free and point skyward as if she’s asking God himself to check out her new boob job, and her miniskirt is rumpled along her waist. A bottle of vodka lies tipped over between them.

Rhonda leans over to her purse, and pulls out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. Denise says nothing, but puts her hand out as if to ask for one. Rhonda grabs two, puts the box down onto the grass, and lights hers before giving the lighter to Denise. Denise frowns at her.

“I just did my nails an hour ago. I don’t want them to chip. Light it for me.”

“I just lit mine,” said Rhonda. “It’s gonna go out if I wait.”

“Come on. For me?” says Denise, batting her eyelashes.

Rhonda rolls her eyes, but obliges. Denise doesn’t thank her; she uses her mouth to smoke instead. Rhonda re-lights her cigarette, flops down onto the ground again, and takes a long drag. She blows the smoke upwards, and watches it disappear into the nothingness.

“Do you think God is watching us right now?” asks Rhonda.

“Jesus, Rhonda. Can we not talk about God for ten minutes?” says Denise.

“It’s not that weird of a question, dude. Me and Charlotte talk about God at sleepovers all the time,” says Rhonda. She taps the end off of her cigarette into the grass.

“I’m not Charlotte.”

“Ok, forget I said anything.”

Denise takes a long drag on her cigarette; her exhale is audible when she releases the smoke from her lungs. She rubs her cigarette out on the towel, and turns on her side to face Rhonda.

Her breasts are facing Rhonda too. She makes a concerted effort to look. . .mostly into her eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” says Denise. She touches Rhonda’s forearm delicately

Denise’s hands have always had a way with closing up her throat. Rhonda nods rather than saying anything, her heart pattering in her chest. Denise’s face is so close; her eyes are a void.

“I don’t believe in God”


	8. Anniversary

It was the fifteenth anniversary of the night that Denise and Rhonda moved in together, and Rhonda was _wasted_. The two of them stumbled into their apartment, laughing drunkenly. They were holding hands, or rather, Denise’s fist was in Rhonda’s palm; each of them was holding a beer bottle in the other hand.

“You’re the one. . .I want!” Rhonda sang. She kicked a chair of their kitchen table.

“You. Are. The. One. I. Want!” Denise responded in a faux gruff voice.

Rhonda burst into giggles. They clinked their beers together and took another drink.

“That musical is the shit. Sandy, she had a hot bod.  At least a seven,” said Rhonda. She put her beer down on the table.

Denise swallowed a burp and put her beer down on the table too. “That’s bull, that’s bullshit. At least an eight plus half for the cat suit.”

“But it’s so slutty.”

“You can’t dock points for that. Slutty is opinion. She looked damn good and you know it Rhonda.”

Denise had moved closer and was in her face. Rhonda was too drunk to argue back coherently; she grunted in agreement. Sandy _did_ look pretty great in the cat suit anyway.

“Maybe you should get a cat suit. You like looking slutty.”

Denise laughed. “Like I don’t already have one.”

“Right. . .right. . .”

She turned on the stereo on the countertop. A pretty piano piece began to play. Denise talked about culturing Rhonda a lot, and she didn’t really get it, but she didn’t mind most of the music Denise wanted to share either.

Denise unhooked her earrings, and put them in the spare jewelry bin on the counter. Rhonda helped to unhook her necklace with fumbling hands. The smell of booze, of thick foundation, of musky perfume emanated from her skin. Denise turned around to face Rhonda far more gracefully than a drunk person should have been able. She smiled hazily and wrapped her arms around Rhonda’s neck. Her eyes, coated in smudged eyeliner and mascara, were as empty as always, clear and blue like the deep end of a pool.

“This is Chopin,” she said.

“Oh. It’s. . .good,” said Rhonda. Denise pressed their foreheads together.

“You don’t understand. One day, Rhonda.”

Her mouth was so close, inches away. Rhonda couldn’t stop looking at it, tracing its shape with her eyes. Chopin, two syllables, soft sounds, soft lips. Chopin, two kisses in one word.

Rhonda closed her eyes; the room was spinning, and Denise’s pretty face wasn’t helping.

“Sure, Denise.”

Denise put her thumb underneath Rhonda’s chin, angling their mouths dangerously close.

“Chopin is very important. Remember that,” she whispered, in surround sound, in Technicolor. Then she pulled away and the moment was gone as if it had never happened at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're listening to Chopin's Nocturne 9 Op 2. Denise likes to pretend she listens to classical music all day but really she found it on the "United States of Eurasia" track of Muse's Resistance album and decided it was appropriately pretentious for her liking.


	9. Titanic: A RhonDenise Production

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know anymore you guys.

_Titanic_ : A RhonDenise Production

Starring:

Rhonda MacDonald as Rose

Denise Reynolds as Jack / Cal

Charlotte Kelly as SFX/camera crew

Dean Reynolds as Jack / Cal

Francine Reynolds as old Rose

Feat: Artemis Dubois as Titanic explorer

Produced by: Francine Reynolds

Script adapted by Rhonda MacDonald and Denise Reynolds

[scene: Mission Control at Titanic Unearthing]

Artemis and Francine were in the back office at Paddy’s Pub. A fifty gallon fish tank covered the back wall; there was a red and yellow toy boat sunk to the bottom. Francine was in an old, dirty nightgown and sitting at the desk. Artemis was in a suit and had a moustache drawn underneath her nose.

“That’s the Titanic,” she said, pointing to the boat.

“I was there. I know,” said Francine.

Artemis slid a turned over piece of paper to Francine. “These your nudie pics?”

Francine peeked under the sheet and said, “Sure are. I had some good tits on me back in the day. Real perky.”

“Hasn’t changed.”

“Thank you sir, that’s real kind.”

Artemis pointed to the picture again. “There’s a necklace between those feisty little boobies of yours. Do you know anything about it?”

Francine smiled wide. “Sure do. That’s the Heart of the Ocean. I remember it like it was yesterday. . .”

[scene: deleted]

Charlotte was pacing in the bar next to a bag of firecrackers. She was glaring at the camera.

“I went all the way down to the store to buy firecrackers to blow this ship to smithereens, and you’re telling me they haven’t built the Titanic yet?”

“They’re not even gonna build a working model, they said. Between you and me, Charlie, I think they’re screwing you over on this deal,” said Francine from behind the camera.

“They’re screwing themselves over. The sinking of the ship is like the best part!” cried Charlotte.

“What I say you do is, you just start exploding whatever shit you can get your hands on. Prove that you’re a worthy explosives chick.”

“That’s a great idea, Frankie. You’re so great,” said Charlie. “How’s this for starters?”

She pulled a popper out of the bag, and threw it down on the ground with a small bang. Francine chuckled.

“ _What the fuck was that?_ ” shouted Denise from the bathroom.

Charlotte raced over to cover the lens of Francine’s camera with her hand.

“Shh shhh shh shh this never happened-”

[scene: Jack discourages Rose from suicide]

Dean was dressed in clothes that looked like they were carved out of a burlap sack. He was wearing a fedora. Rhonda was wearing an ill-fitting period dress on rental. They were sitting on a pier next to a slimy, tiny boat which was also on rental.

“Why were you trying to jump off of the Titanic?” he said in a poor approximation of a Cockney accent. Dean tried to touch her hand, but she winced and only allowed him to touch her pinky finger.

“My family only wants me to marry for money,” said Rhonda.

“That’s no reason to kill yourself,” said Dean. He tried to hug her shoulders, but Rhonda wilted.

“Who is this man? Why is he touching my wife?” said Denise, waltzing onscreen. She was wearing a tux and a bowler hat with her hair tied into a knot underneath it. Rhonda’s face brightened at the sight of her. She extracted herself from underneath Dean’s grip.

“This is Jack. He just stopped me from offing myself.” She slipped her hand into Denise’s. “You should probably pay him or something since I’m not dead.”

“Very good,” said Denise. She handed Dean a wad of cash.

[scene: deleted]

Rhonda was filming Denise putting on false stubble.

“I don’t know if I can pretend to love your gross brother for this whole movie, dude.”

“I told you: Dean and I have worked out a deal. He gets to be the husband for half and I get to be Jack for half,” said Denise.

“Right but do I have to get naked for him? When I said ‘yeah this project sounds awesome’ I thought _you_ were gonna be Jack, full time.”

Denise pulled out foundation and began rubbing it underneath her eyelids.

“I can’t be contained to one part, Rhonda. We don’t make many films.”

“I don’t want your brother to see me naked.”

Denise closed her foundation, and put it away in her makeup bag.

“He won’t. I’m just gonna make him do all the unpleasant shit, like dying and filler scenes and running around. You and I will get all the good stuff, he’ll still feel like a lead. Everybody’s happy. Ok?”

“Ok.”

[scene: montage]

  *          Denise, Dean, and Rhonda chew a few bites of an awkward dinner together.
  *          Rhonda and Dean dance together without looking at each other.
  *          Rhonda and Dean try to high five and miss the first three times.



[scene: nighttime on the titanic]

Celine Dion was blasting on cheap speakers offscreen. Rhonda and Denise were standing on the deck of the rental boat. Denise was wearing slightly cheaper clothes; Rhonda was wearing the same dress as before.

“Hold on,” said Denise. “Keep your eyes closed.” She wrapped her arm around Rhonda’s waist. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” said Rhonda, leaning back into Denise.

Denise stretched Rhonda’s arms out, mirroring the original scene. Rhonda smiled.

“Alright, open your eyes.” Denise placed her face in the nape of Rhonda’s neck. Rhonda cleared her throat.

“I’m flying, Jack!”

[scene: the Heart of the Ocean]

The Heart of the Ocean was a piece of opalescent costume jewelry in an upside down fish tank. Dean (as Jack) and Rhonda looked at it through its container.

“That’s the Heart of the Ocean. It’s a very important necklace that I have.”

“Can I paint you naked in it?” asked Dean.

“Sure,” said Rhonda.

[scene: deleted]

Denise was changing her clothes in a bathroom stall.

“So for half of the nudie painting scene, I want to be Rose.”

“Why?”

“You’ve seen my body. People will be thinking about it the whole time they watch this film – oh I wonder what that woman looks like naked. I can’t deprive my audience.”

“So you’ll pose naked . . . for your brother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rhonda. Too many scene changes. You will simply put on my clothes and be Jack for five minutes. The audience is satiated of their thirst for my breasts and we can move on from this whole affair.”

“Oh. . .that’s good. That works too because I didn’t want to take off my underwear.”

“Why would you choose to be Rose if you didn’t want to perform nude?”

“Because I think her part goes beyond nudity!”

“Whatever. You hogged the lead. You’re lucky someone isn’t shy about her titties or you’d have a disappointed crowd.”

[scene: tasteful nudity]

Rhonda was sitting stiffly on the couch, underwear clad.

“Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack.”

Denise was drawing a pair of enormous breasts. Cut to Rhonda wearing Denise’s “Jack” clothes. Denise was lying on the couch, legs and arms spread to reveal both her breasts and a sizeable portion of her crotch. Rhonda was not drawing anything. She appeared to be trying to not gape at the naked body before her. Denise smiled seductively at the camera and winked.

[scene: sex]

Rhonda and Denise were in their underwear on the inside of a broken down van parked next to the boat. Dean was filming the scene from the outside. Their dialogue was inaudible because Celine Dion was playing again at top volume. They started kissing passionately inside of the van when suddenly –

BANG

“Fuck FUCK FUCK!”

Startled by the explosions and the shouting, they raced outside. The camera was refocused onto their boat, which was slowly being engulfed in flames. Charlotte walked over to the group with an enormous smile on her face.

“Do you guys like it?”

“Why is our rental boat on _fire_?” cried Denise.

“You said this movie was about sinking a boat, ok, and you weren’t letting me sink any boats! But now that you see how good I am at it, maybe we can get some effects going-”

“No!” cried Dean. “No there’s no effects going anywhere. You blew up our boat!”

Francine was laughing, tears streaming down her face. “I gave her the idea. Good job, Charlie! I think you did good!”

“Thank you! I think I did pretty good too!”

“This is not good!” said Denise, shivering in her underwear.

“Son of a bitch,” said Rhonda. “Oh this sucks. I’m so cold.”

[scene: Jack’s death]

Dean was lying face down in the lake water next to their exploded rental boat.

“You guys have got ten seconds to really give this a nice convincing job before we need to get out of here,” said Denise. “Make it work.”

“It’s so hard because I just don’t care about Dean dying,” said Rhonda. She was still in her underwear and shivering.

Dean looked up from the water. “I heard that!”

“Couldn’t you do his part instead?”

“I don’t work in water without a bikini. Now hurry up and get his death over with.”

Rhonda sighed.

“Oh my god he’s dead. It’s so sad. My heart will never go on.”

“Brilliant.”

[scene: old Rose and the Titanic explorer]

Celine Dion played at top volume as Francine held the Heart of the Ocean in one fist and Artemis’s breast in another. They made out until the screen faded to black.

[credits]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artemis's gender didn't "bend" because she is genderqueer. 
> 
> Charlotte and Francine totally call each other Charlie and Frankie.
> 
> Frank/Artemis in all the universes.


	10. We Both Go Down Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is a songfic of sorts. Blame singingtomysoul. The song is "We Both Go Down Together" by The Decemberists.

Denise came out of her room with a strange expression on her face, and flicked off the television. She had been acting odd and skittish all morning, and Rhonda was becoming very irritated with her attitude. Denise’s unpredictable funks generally preceded her picking fights, and it looked like this time was no different.

“Hey, I was watching that!” said Rhonda.

The other woman didn’t respond. She sat down on the couch, placed her phone on the coffee table, scanned to a song, and pressed play. She looked right in Rhonda’s eyes, probing, curious. Hungry.

_Here on the cliffs of Dover . . . so high that you can’t see over . . ._

Then she kissed Rhonda softly on the mouth, fingers curled around the nape of her neck. It was so rare that Denise was gentle, and yet here she was, soft in Rhonda’s arms.

_And while your head was spinning . . . hold tight it’s just beginning . . ._

“Denise, what’s going on?” said Rhonda, breaking away from the kiss. Denise didn’t answer; she kissed Rhonda again, tongue sliding into her mouth. She pulled Rhonda towards her body with her other arm, holding her at the waist. Rhonda kissed back, and Denise tipped her backwards. The expression on her face was impossible to read.

“Oh my love, my love,” she sang along in a whisper. “We both go down together.”

She pressed a kiss on Rhonda’s neck, and slid a hand underneath her skirt. Her palm rubbed against her crotch, teasing. Spikes of pleasure radiated up her spine, and she became wet.

“God-” she gasped, and Denise smiled as if it was addressed to her.

_I laid you down in the grass of a clearing . . . you wept but your soul was willing . . ._

Denise’s lips were on Rhonda’s again, and her hand was slipping under her underwear. Her fingers threaded through the hair on her mound, pressing again and again.

 _Oh my love, my love . ._.

Now Denise’s hand had moved down, dancing in circles around her clit. Tension was building inside of Rhonda.

“I want you inside of me,” she gasped as Denise kissed her neck. She moaned in response, and curled a long finger inside of her pussy.

_Meet me on my vast veranda . . . my sweet, untouched Miranda . . ._

Denise’s finger was pressing deep, and her palm was thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. Rhonda was moments from coming, every muscle in her body tense and wanting. Denise looked up, and into Rhonda’s eyes again.

“And while the seagulls are crying,” she whispered, looking triumphant. “We fall but our souls are flying.”

Rhonda came powerfully, contracting around Denise’s hand and the rest of her body.

_Oh my love, my love . . ._

Denise’s eyes fluttered shut, and her face flushed. Her body tensed, and then exhaled sharply several times before relaxing entirely. She laid on top of Rhonda, breathing heavily, saying nothing.

_We both go down together._

They laid there together in a rare mutual silence for a long time.


	11. Prayer II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through this fic! How exciting.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Dear God,

How is Heaven? I hear it’s awesome, but sometimes I wish I could hear that directly from you. You never talk back, but that’s ok. I know you get a million prayers and if I were you I would ignore most of them. I haven’t been sinning a lot, so I figure you’re not ignoring me on purpose.

Today we talked about marriage in my CCD class. It was so great – that story of Adam and Eve is a real winner. You sure know how to write em. It’s a shame that Eve was such a bitch though, because I would have liked to hang out with you. If you had made it Adam and Rhonda, I wouldn’t have even eaten the fruit because I don’t like fruit that much.

I just have question though – if marriage is supposed to be the most holy thing I can do, why did you make boys so disgusting? Jimmy Jenkens farted at my table today while I was trying to read your word and I didn't hit him but it was an almost. I stopped just in time because I remembered that I was in your house and you don't like hitting there. I feel like all the guys I meet are like that. All the girls I know seem really into guys but I just don’t get the tingly marriage feelings for them. I have a hard time believing that they are even holy, because I just hate them so much.

For my husband, make him shower every day and never pick his nose or his toes. Also it seems like guys just want to have sex all the time, and I’m just not into that? But I know you would only give me a guy who wants to have sex when we can make more babies for you. That's a given. Just in case I'm gonna make this clear: no more blowjobs when I'm married. No handjobs or anal either. I don't want to see his dick. I'm counting on you to make this relationship work.

I visited my dad in prison yesterday with mom. He said he got more time because he tried to deal meth in prison. I told him that I thought it was really stupid that they put him in prison for dealing meth anyway. People want drugs, he gave them drugs. He and my mom didn’t say anything. My mom went home and slept the rest of the day. I just want to pray for both of them, that my dad stays ok in prison and that my mom starts feeling better. She says she is sick all the time and that’s why she watches tv instead of going to the grocery store.

On a side note, please forgive me for all the beer I drank yesterday. It was definitely drinking to excess. It’s just that Charlotte got a hold on a whole container of beer and we _never_ get that much beer so it was really hard to resist the temptation to drink all of it. Plus, Denise came over to Charlotte’s house too so it was like a party. It would have been a weird party without beer.

Also I huffed a little glue but that’s not in the Bible so it probably doesn’t count as a sin.

I also would like to apologize for the fistfight that Charlotte and I had yesterday. I’d assure you if you weren’t paying all that much attention that the fistfight was very friendly and my dress didn’t even ride up during it so it was ladylike too. She only has four bruises and she got a lot of punches in edgewise.

I’m trying really hard to not punch people so much, but it’s so hard. I know you want me to be caring and nurturing but I just get so angry all the time. A punch can be caring and nurturing in the right light, right?

It seems sometimes like you’ve given me so many crosses to bear. I assume this means I get to sit next to you in heaven. I’d like to thank you in advance.

I guess that’s all I have to say for now.

Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit Jesus. Holy Mary . . . uh . . . virgin . . . something . . . pray for me . . . smite the sinners. Amen.


End file.
